


The Irony in that

by Lilith_Anders



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Sad, Sorry Not Sorry, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 11:39:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6422434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilith_Anders/pseuds/Lilith_Anders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco died not to long ago. Jean keeps forgetting he is dead. One day when jean is driving home he passes the spot the found Marco's body, he falls asleep on the side of the road, a cop picks him up trying to help. What is the irony in that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Irony in that

**Author's Note:**

> Sad one shot, I swear one of these days I will write something happy. Sorry not sorry.   
> Please me warned this is 100% triggering. Do not read if you are triggered by suicide please do not read.

“Shit” I muttered to myself as I turned on the freeway to see nothing but traffic. I could take the next exit and get home with the back streets, I’d be just as late, if not more. “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!”  
Marco would be cooking dinner and I would be late. Yet again. He’d be pissed if I didn’t show up on time. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t called me all day? I hit the preset button on my steering wheel, calling Marco, It went straight to voicemail, I tried again, and again. It went to voicemail every time   
Then I passed the lake. The lake, the spot where they found his body. His cold, lifeless, dopamine raved body. The anti-depressants that flooded his body was just part of the irony. The whole killing yourself with the one thing that is said to ‘make you happy’, being the thing that kills you. It would have been funny, you know if It wasn’t so, so sad.   
He didn’t answer, the sound of his soft, loving voice telling me to “fuck off Jean and just leave a message like everyone else” brought me to reality. The reality that the love of my life was gone, dead. I pulled over, tears streaming down my face, and threw up. 100 feet from where they found his body, I was puking in a bush and sobbing.   
I’d never hear his voice again, never feel his hand in mine, wake up to him sleeping beside me, and never hear about his dreams. I would never be able to surprise him with his favorite candy bar or stay up all night with him, studying whatever his hellish classes had him learning. The love of my life killed himself with the drug that was supposed to make him happy, and me the one person who should have seen it coming, didn’t. Therefore in a way I killed him just as much as his drugs did.   
I moved away from the bush, turning to the water, I started talking to him. I don’t believe he can hear me, I mean he’s dead. But that doesn’t mean I can’t talk to him.  
I must have dozed off by the water. The sound of sirens woke me up, there was a cop standing over me shinning a light in my eyes, his mouth moving, asking to tell me something. But I couldn’t make out anything he was saying. I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t know where Marco was.   
Dead  
“Why are you here son?” The cop was yelling now, giving me a worried look. He seemed just as confused as why I was, where ever this is, as I was. When I didn’t answer he dragged me to my feet, half dragged have lead me to his car and set me in the back. He didn’t put me in handcuffs or shut the door. He just kneeled down, “do you have anyone I can call to pick you up?”  
No answer.   
“Can you understand me?”  
“Yes, where am I?” I croaked.  
“Out on the freeway lake by pass, now do you have anyone I can call to get you?” He asked starting to lose his temper.  
“Yes, Marc- No, no I don’t.”  
He just nodded, closing the door, locking me in the back of the fowl smelling car.   
After getting my story he brought me to the mental ward. I spent 3 months in 4 different levels of ward care, in 3 different hospitals. When I finally got released they had me on a lot of different medication. One was anti-depressants. They had me living at a friend’s. Eren’s, house. One day when he left me alone I got a cab to the lake, taking my anti-depressants with me.   
I waded into the water, downed the bottle of pills, drank some lake water, and floated into peace. The same cop that found me on the side of the road 3 months prior, found me floating dead 3 days later.   
Now, what’s the irony in that?


End file.
